veteran of the last war, it was close to heaven.
We followed him to the kitchen and had our mess kits filled. The cooks already had their portable stoves in operation, cooking fresh bread, roast beef, and canned vegetables. Danny and his pals were still eating K rations, but Corps HQ was already feeding on the A-ration diet, the same grub you could get at any base back in the States. We were all wearing helmets and carrying weapons, but that was no reason not to eat well.
“Kearns tells me we’re up to the queen of hearts,” Harding said as soon as we sat at the end of a trestle table, far from the others.
“Major Arnold, personnel officer,” I said. I told Harding about Danny and my suspicions about his being placed in Landry’s old platoon, and asking Kearns to arrange a transfer. Harding grunted, meaning he didn’t disagree but wasn’t going to go to bat for me either.
“What have you found out about Landry and Galante?”
“Landry was well liked by his men. He had a soft spot for a prostitute at a joint called Bar Raffaele in Acerra. There was some sort of fracas there and Landry and one of his sergeants, name of Flint, paid off the owner for damages. The owner, Stefano Inzerillo, claimed Landry never paid him anything. But he’d already been beaten to within an inch of his life, and was hiding something from us. We went back to question him again, but someone got there ahead of us and took care of that last inch. Inzerillo burned alive inside his own club.”
“No playing card?” Harding asked in between mouthfuls of roast beef. I looked at Kaz, hoping he’d take up the slack so I could eat something, but he shoveled in a forkful of peas and shrugged.
“No. If it’s the same guy, he’s got one method for officers and another for everyone else.” I told him the story of Sergeant Cole, from the incident in Campozillone to the shot to the head in Caserta, not leaving out the rag doll I’d found.
“Pearls?” Harding said in disbelief. Thankfully, Kaz chimed in with the story of Signora Salvalaggio, probably with a bit more history of the Italian monarchy than was necessary, but I didn’t mind because it gave me a chance to eat.
“Galante knew about the pearls, and he knew Cole,” Harding said. “Perhaps he asked him to look for them.”
“That’s likely,” I said. “He had the run of the palace. But I think the killer knew about the pearls, too, from the way Cole acted. Maybe he was being forced to hand them over.”
“Are you certain the murderer is part of Third Platoon?”
“Not certain, but everything points to it. Landry was platoon leader. Cole had been in the platoon; Galante got him transferred out. Arnold sent Danny and another ASTP kid in. They all hung out at Bar Raffaele.”
“Sounds reasonable. Do you think this guy has some sort of grudge against officers?” Harding asked.
“It seems he has a grudge against anyone who gets in his way,” Kaz said. “But the playing cards are something special. A calling card, so to speak.”
“It’s interesting that the first body wasn’t hidden,” I said. “Landry was left in plain view. Behind a tent, but still where anyone could see him. Galante and Arnold were both hidden.”
“Are you sure Landry was killed first?” Harding said. I was about to say of course he was, but stopped myself. Why assume that? Not because the killer put the ten of hearts in Landry’s pocket and the jack in Galante’s.
“Not at all,” I said, drawing out the words and thinking it through. “Arnold’s body had to be hidden, to give the killer time to get clear of the scene. But the same logic doesn’t apply with the first two. If Galante was the first, then the killer had to place his body out of sight-”
“To give him time to murder Landry,” Kaz finished for me.
“Right. Which means Landry must have known that the killer was going to see Galante, and had to be silenced.”
“Going to see him about the pearls?” Harding offered.
“There’s no indication Landry knew about the pearls. There had to be some other reason.”
“Simple,” Harding said. “He ordered him to.” I was about to say that was too simple, but for the second time, I saw something that was so obvious I’d missed it.
“He ordered him to,” I repeated, letting it sink in. “But why? For what reason?”
“Doctor Galante specialized in combat fatigue,” Kaz said.
“But Galante wasn’t seeing anyone from Third Platoon. We checked his records.”
“Off the books?” Harding suggested.
“That would work,” I said. “The platoon was short on experienced men. If Landry didn’t want to lose a veteran soldier, he might ask Galante to talk to him on the QT.”
“So, Landry sends a combat fatigue case to Galante. The guy goes off his rocker, kills Galante, then hotfoots it back to the bivouac area to kill Landry,” Harding said. “He comes up with the straight flush idea to confuse things, so it isn’t obvious that Galante was the real target. It puts Galante in among a group of victims, so we don’t see him as the primary victim.”
“Then he didn’t go off his rocker,” I said.
“What?” Kaz and Harding said at the same time.
“It doesn’t fit. Who goes off his rocker and then executes a plan like that?”
“Someone crazy enough to murder people,” Harding said.
“That’s a tough one, Colonel. It sounds logical, but if someone is really crazy, as the law defines it, then he’s not responsible for his actions. But these are very well-thought-out actions, up to and including getting Danny in as part of the platoon.”
Kaz shook his head. “Then what happened with Galante?”
“Something that was a threat. A serious threat that had to be stopped in its tracks, and covered up with this card business. It has to be related to what happened at Bar Raffaele, which is why Inzerillo had to go.”
“Perhaps the killer wanted to be sent home, and Galante refused to give him the diagnosis he needed,” Kaz said. “He gets angry, and before he knows it, Galante is dead. Then he has to kill Landry, to keep it all a secret.”
“Or maybe it wasn’t combat fatigue at all,” I said. “Maybe Landry was helping out somebody who had the clap, asking Galante to treat him so it wouldn’t go on his record.”
“Venereal disease isn’t exactly rare,” Harding said.
“No, but perhaps a married man would not want it to be known,” Kaz said.
“Or a priest,” I said, fairly certain that Saint Peter was putting a black mark next to my name for even suggesting it.
“I’m heading over to see Kearns,” Harding said. “What’s next for you two?”
“I want to find the Carabinieri who came along on this joyride. They may know more than they’re telling us about Bar Raffaele.”
“Why do you think that?”
“A hunch is all,” I said. I didn’t want to complicate things by bringing up Luca Amatori’s stint at a Fascist concentration camp. That was my leverage, and I needed to keep it to myself. For now.
“Okay,” Harding said, rising from the table with his mess kit. “I’ll be back tomorrow at 1100 hours. Report to me then. I need to send Ike an update on the situation. You’ll find me with Kearns.”
That worked fine for me, since I planned an early morning visit to Le Ferriere. I wasn’t going to let Danny face the Germans alone, not with an American killer at his back. I knew Harding and Kearns wouldn’t be happy with my protecting Danny, or tipping off the killer. But it was my kid brother, so colonels and majors be damned.
CHAPTER TWENTY-FIVE
We found Tenente Luca Amatori at the Anzio Carabinieri headquarters, set up in a seaside casino pockmarked with bullet holes from the initial assault.
“Billy, Kaz,” he said, rising from his desk, which had originally been a croupier’s table. “I am glad to see you both. Is this a social call, or can I be of assistance?”
“We could use your help,” I said as I took a seat. Luca’s desk was filled with papers, lists of names and addresses from what I could see. An ornate white-and-gold telephone on his desk rang, and he ignored it, nodding
